Do You Have A Name?
by MarieQuiteContrarie
Summary: Belle visits Rumple in the shop, and they look at the sonogram picture together.


_A/N: The Rumbelle conversation that should have happened in 6x07. SPOILERS for baby name discussion and meaning, though I decided against using the actual name in the text for those who don't want to know yet._

Her walk is cold this morning, and Belle shoves her frigid hands deeper into the pockets of her trench coat as she turns the corner to walk down his street. It's the same street the library sits on, across the street and catty corner from the pawnshop. It's her street too, but it feels like his. The shop, the town, her heart. Despite the lies she tells herself, her heart still belongs to him.

It seems like only yesterday that she'd stood on the sun-drenched deck of the Jolly Roger toe-to-toe with her True Love, spewing bitter draught she never thought would pass her lips. She was just _so angry_. Angry at him, angry at fate, and most of all, angry at herself.

Here in this strange little town where time stands still and circumstances shift in the blink of an eye whether the town is cursed or not, there's a permanent mark on their heads designed to destroy their happiness. Over the years, that destruction has taken on many forms. Misunderstanding, cruel words, lies, blindness, darkness, bitterness, wicked witches, and now, the Evil Queen.

An ugly voice sears her soul, whispering that she's the one who drove him here, first to the depths of despair, and now into the arms of another woman. Not even a woman….half of a woman. She'd broken him, and now she's too cowardly to watch him unravel. What a disgusting excuse for a hero. If she were a good person, she would have been able to save him, to be enough. But she's not. Since her mama died, she's never been enough for anyone. Why would her husband be any different?

Last night Zelena had told her he'd moved on, found a lover in the Evil Queen—someone to match him, darkness for darkness. Someone with a power and a presence and a majesty to equal his own. Jealousy bubbles through her veins, shooting its poisonous darts into every inch of her body, but she has no claim on him anymore.

Her feelings aren't important, anyway. Right now, all that matters is their son.

In spite of everything they've been through, hope blooms within her body.

Belle presses a wondering hand to her belly where their child has begun to grow, stretching her ligaments until they burn. There's a pulling sensation and a light fluttering in her abdomen, like a butterfly breaking free of a chrysalis. She knows from her reading that these changes are preparing her body for the baby's arrival.

She shudders as a stiff wind blows, reminding her of the cold gel the nurse swiped across her slightly rounding figure. On a screen she'd seen the proof of their love—his tiny heart beating—little limbs, fully formed down to tiny, perfect toes. Her lips had parted in fascination and her eyes smarted with joy-filled tears.

Nothing could have prepared her for that moment, but going without Rumple there to hold her hand and brush his mouth against her temple—it was unthinkable. But she's done the unthinkable many times before. It never gets any easier. She has no choice, though.

 _He doesn't love her anymore._

As she does every morning, Belle pauses outside the pawnshop and peeks in the window. He's standing at the back counter, tinkering with an antique tabletop clock, his handsome brow furrowed in concentration. Her heart gives a traitorous flip, as it always does when he walks into a room. Gods, how she loves him. He looks up then, peering through the glass, and with a small wave he welcomes her. He doesn't smile, but that tiny motion is all the encouragement she needs to open the door and cross the threshold.

Rumplestiltskin doesn't know what makes him wave. He's shocked to see her through the glass. She stands there, hands clasped behind her back in a strange combination of lost and hopeful, like a little girl who needs directions.

Trouble is, he no longer knows the way.

They can't go back to who they were, and the common ground between them continues to crumble, creating a chasm so wide he has no idea how to cross over to her side. But the sonogram picture she left for him tingles in his pocket. It's held against his heart, where he'll always keep them—his wife and his son. Gods, how he loves them.

"Hi." She shuffles forward a few steps, hesitating in the doorway.

"Hey." He frowns. She never used to be afraid to approach him, and he wonders if she's heard about his alliance with the Evil Queen. It means nothing—the Queen means nothing. The woman standing before him is everything.

"Did you get the….?"

"Yes," he says, stopping his work to carefully pull the image from his pocket.

He unrolls it and lays it down on the glass, smoothing it flat with his fingers. She walks to the counter and together they lean over it, both eager to see the picture of their child once more. The wood and glass barrier between them is neutral territory, here in this war zone where neither of them is backing down.

 _She doesn't love him anymore._

But she cared enough to bring him the sonogram. An olive branch, an act of goodwill. Even after all that he's done. Even after all that she's said.

She leans over the counter, impatient to see the image of their son again, even though she has a copy of her own sitting on her nightstand. She's memorized every little curve and shadow of the glossy black and white image. As they study their baby together, their foreheads nearly touch, and she sucks in a breath at his nearness. She steps back a fraction of an inch. They're too close.

"Did it, um, hurt?" he asks, and she notices that his eyes are misty.

"Physically? No." She shakes her head and wraps her arms around herself. "It hurt…not having you there. I know you don't need me, but I needed you."

"Why didn't you call me?" he asks. "I'm always here for you, Belle. Here for you and our child."

"As long as it's on your terms, right?" she asks, failing to keep the bitterness from her voice. He blanches, and she winces at her shrewish tone. She promised herself she wouldn't do this, but she's afraid, so afraid, of losing him to the darkness again. She's afraid, so afraid, that their son will grow up angry and estranged from his father.

"I could say the same for you," he says, blanching.

"I'm sorry," she says, when the lines around his eyes tighten. "Let's not fight."

He nods stiffly, accepting the truce, and they bend over the sonogram once more. With shaking fingers, he traces the outline of the baby's head and Belle points out his tiny arms and legs. When their hands brush, an electric spark runs up his arm and he closes his eyes against the sensation.

"Have you thought on a name?" he asks, desperate to cut the tension.

"I've toyed with a few," she admits, looking at the floor. "David brought me a book on baby names on his last visit."

"David's a good man," he acknowledges, a jealous stab piercing his gut.

They should be lying in bed at home, laughing, paging through the book of names together, and imagining their son's future. That's what normal married couples do. But theirs has never been a conventional love affair. It's his fault they're here. Had he known Belle would reject her chance to see the world and return, he wouldn't have taken back the darkness. But it's easy to say that now, to blame her for his loneliness and poor decisions.

"He is," Belle agrees, a smile playing at her lips. "So are you."

"Me?" His mouth wraps around the word in surprise, then he shakes his head in denial. "No."

"You forget I know you," she says softly, but there's no censure in her tone. "I-I love you."

The words are last so softly that he almost doesn't hear. A tear falls from one sapphire eye and he reaches out to capture it with a finger. Her lower lip trembles, and more tears fall in glistening streaks.

"Belle," he says, his voice breaking.

"Rumple." As one, they lean across the counter, grabbing each other in an awkward, rough embrace. Her body quakes as he holds her close and he sobs as she buries her head in the crook of his neck.

They both pull back, uncertain and emotional, and his own watery, hesitant laugh echoes in his ears.

"Names," he prompts again, steering them out of dark waters.

"I was hoping you'd have one," she says, sounding wistful. "That's why I came today. A father should have the opportunity to name his son."

"Truly?" he asks, amazed at the gift she's offering. "You want me to…to name him?"

"He's your son, Rumple, just as much as he is mine," Belle says. "I know how much you love him; that you'd never let anything happen to him."

"Never," he swears. "I'd never let anything happen to either of you. On the ship, Belle I was only trying to protect you…I'm sorry."

"I know that now," she say. "I'm sorry, too. The things I said…" And before she forgets that she has no right, she reaches up to smooth a bit of hair off his forehead.

He captures her hand, trapping it against his cheek. "Belle." He swallows, his throat thick. "I'm afraid. What if I fail again?"

"As long as you trust the love in your heart, you won't fail," she says. "That's not who you are, Rumplestiltskin. You're a survivor."

"Thank you," he manages to say, overwhelmed by the grace she extends him time and again.

Their eyes meet and hold, pools of longing and sadness and might-have-beens, but a kernel of hope that all is not lost unfurls in his tight chest.

"You don't have to decide today about the name," she says, turning to leave.

"Wait." He pauses and she spins around. He reaches for a scrap of paper and scribbles his idea. "What do you think of this?" he asks, at once hopeful and terrified that she won't care for it.

"That's an old Hebrew name," she says, eyes bright with interest. "It means Destroyer One. Mighty man of valor. It's beautiful."

"Names have power," he reminds her.

"Yes." A sunny smile he hasn't seen in ages chases the shadows away from her face. "It's perfect."

###

I hope this gave you a bit of hope. I know I needed it. *Hugs*


End file.
